A Different Budapest
by AsiaProductions23
Summary: "You and I remember Budapest very differently." Budapest 2007 was a memorable time for Black Widow & Hawkeye that they would never forget. They would never think that a 2012 Alien invasion would remind them so much of it... but why did it remind them? A change of memory? An invasion? Fighting for your life? Or all of the above? Rated M for language, violence, and sexual themes
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_For the longest, I've been trying to work out a way to make a Budapest story. But I had to find a way that it would be really like the Avengers last battle without copying it up completely. I recently came up with this story and I'd really appreciate it if you would review! Means a lot :D_

_Asia! _

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It was a complete mess out here and honestly Natasha didn't know how they were going to get out of it. Ailens, a cube that can create a space warp type thing, and NYC (her "home" if she actually had one) was going to shit. Fun day.

A group of Ailens began to approach them – they were going to be surrounded her soon. The last time she had been surrounded by a shitload of opponents with weapons like this was Budapest.

Thinking about it now, all of this was like Budapest. A mission gone south. A partner fucked up by the bad guys. The other saving their ass. Fighting their way out to save both of their asses.

Natasha took another shot before saying coolly, leaning a bit over to her partner.

"It's is just like Budapest all over again."

Clint blinked once as he took shot his arrow, a bit confused. Budapest? _Really? _This was Budapest? He wanted to laugh a bit - he'd have to ask her about this later. Budapest… fucking Budapest

Pulling out another arrow, Clint glanced over to her and replied, still in slight disbelief that she made that reference, "You and I remember Budapest very differently."

Natasha took another shot and smirked a little to herself.

The irony of that statement.


	2. Compromised

**Compromised**

_Three years ago._

Clint was bored.

He was currently watching a young man and woman (his marks) talking, while having dinner. It was by the far most boring recon mission that Coulson could've given to him. A junior agent could've done it without fucking it up. But of course, he had to get it.

It was probably punishment for fucking up the Mumbai job with Natasha. They really fucked up that whole thing…

He was _so_ bored.

In the back of his mind, he was wondering what kind of mission Nat was on. No, they couldn't talk about it when they were together, but still, it made him wonder.

If it was only Natasha, then it probably had something to do with seducing some man and using her body. Something she absolutely loathed but was fucking good at it.

Something she had always been good at. Clint met her when she was at the tender age of seventeen and even then, she was gorgeous: full wavy bright red hair, electric blue eyes, never-ending curves, pouty lips, and a killer smile. Gorgeous and she knew it (in a very modest way). Luckily, Clint could see past it and the eyes of cold-blooded killer.

But then again, he once again saw past the eyes of a cold-blooded killer and saw something that made him stop. He saw the eyes of a vulnerable seventeen year old girl. Someone who was very tired and upset by the world she lived in-

From his ear set, he heard a distinct ringing. He rolled his eyes and clicked his ear set and groaned, "Barton."

"Barton, we need you to come in." It was Coulson's cool, almost mechanic voice.

Clint rolled his eyes and muttered, "You send me on this crap mission. And now, I swear to you that I'm about get the info on the weapons and you want to pull me out-"

"It's Romanoff," Coulson interrupted.

Clint's eyes widened and he let Coulson go on.

"Natasha has been compromised, Clint."

Clint picked up his things and said, "Give me two hours." The man has probably never moved faster as he grabbed all of his equipment and headed for his own jet.

Natasha? Compromised? How?

It had been six years since Natasha has been working for SHIELD as one of its own agents, and it has been four years since she has been working as his partner. How did she get compromised?

Natasha was never compromised. She always managed to get herself out of every situation. No matter how many times she was in a bad spot, she managed to get herself out of it. Natalia Romanova was never a compromised person.

In less than two hours, Clint managed to reach the SHIELD Helicraft. He landed and hopped out of the jet.

"Agent Barton," shouted one of the junior agents, trying to make his voice prominent against the wind.

"We'll be taking you to the meeting," shouted the other.

"Where is Agent Romanoff?" Clint asked quickly.

"She was on a mission in Budapest before she stopped checking in to report her status," revealed the first one. "But you'll be briefed further once we get back inside-"

"When did she last check in?" asked Clint, not bothering to wait.

The two junior agents exchanged awkward glances as they walked inside. "We are not allowed to explain. We were asked to wait for Director Fury to explain-"

"You're withholding information from me about _my _partner!" shouted Clint, grabbing one of them by the collar, almost lifting him up in the air. "You better tell me what happened to her right now-"

"Barton!" Fury shouted.

Clint looked over his shoulder to see the one-eyed Director glaring at him with his hands on his hips. He gave him a look and muttered in a lethal voice, "Put the Junior Agent down, Barton."

Without looking back at the agent, Clint let go of him and walked over to Fury. "Where is she?" Clint asked shortly.

"Sit down, Barton-"

"I'd prefer to stand," Clint said coolly.

"I'm sorry if that sounded like a suggestion," Fury glared.

Clint sighed as he took a seat at the roundtable with his arms crossed, pouting – a combination between an angry child and a lethal man that was just angered by hearing news that his partner (and best friend) had been compromised, mostly the later.

"Where is she, Fury?" Clint asked again, a bit calmer.

Coulson appeared and passed him a large manila folder. "Romanoff was in a Budapest, doing a job that involves conning a major Nuclear Arms Terrorist, Bishop."

"Who's Bishop?" asked Clint.

Coulson turned on the projector and it showed a clip of a man speaking in Hungarian with subtitles.

"_Our job is to rid the world of evil you say? To bring justice to the world? And the only way to do so is by starting anew. It was my god-given right to re-birth the world. If using nuclear arms to do so is the way, then so be it. Once we start anew, peace can be re-started. We can live again…"_

"So…" Barton muttered as Coulson paused it. "You sent her to a nuclear terrorist, who believes he is saving the world?"

"Yes," Fury said simply.

Clint was about to reveal to them that Natasha hated jobs like that involved... _nut-jobs. _

"She has been on the job for three months as you know and she played him, to become romantically involved," Coulson went on. "It was going perfect until she was made… or so we believe."

"What do you mean?" asked Clint, appalled.

"She's been killed. Or maybe even worse," said Fury. "We don't know."

"Romanoff was supposed to contact us to tell us how everything was going," revealed Coulson, "It's been three days since her assigned check-in."

Three days. 72 hours. 4320 minutes. 259200 seconds and counting.

"You have nothing…?" Clint muttered again.

Fury shook his head.

"You're going to find her though, right?" Clint asked slowly.

Fury and Coulson exchanged glances. The Director then leaned against the banister and said, "You know it's against policy to be affiliated with agents that are potentially used."

Clint saw red.

"So we're going to _leave_ Natasha in Budapest in the hands of a clearly fucking insane-ass man! You've got to be kidding me! There is no way you are going to lose one of your best field agents because of a policy created by a group of people who refuse to show their goddamned faces!"

Fury raised an eyebrow. "I can't do anything about policy, Barton." He put up a hand to stop him and went on, while motioning for Coulson to put a glass wall between the conference room and the rest of the technical center.

Once the sound-proof glass was up, surrounding them, Fury went on. "Off the books, completely. No help from SHIELD or contact with us until you've got Romanoff. If you are caught, I will say _I don't know what the fuck you are talking about, I never had a Clint Barton working for me because I don't hire idiots. _Once you get Romanoff, you will finish the job. Take him out and his missiles. Do you understand me, Barton?"

Clint scoffed, "Yes, Sir."

"Well good," said Fury, "Now, your flight leaves in an hour. Get your shit and go get your partner. I have files for you to read on the plane to Budapest."

He was up and looking for his weaponry before Fury finished.

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Review Please!


	3. Hunt

**Hunt**

_Here's another chapter - and thanks for the love so far. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!_

_ASIA P._

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Clint had slept on the ten-hour plane ride to Budapest after he read the file on Natasha's mission because he wasn't going to allow himself to sleep until he made sure she was safe again.

Her job wasn't supposed to be hard. It was supposed to be relatively simple: get close to Bishop, get _really_ close, and then steal the codes and location of the missiles, and then disappear.

His plane landed at midnight in Budapest. He immediately rented a car and drove himself to Natasha's last known location. It was a fancy club that blasting awful house music – you could hear the bass outside. For a rich terrorist, this place looked really trashy to take a girl like Natasha… maybe he was biased.

Even though it wasn't his weapon of choice, Clint slid his gun in the waistline of his pants along with two knives on his side. He walked in and looked around and wanted to die just a little. The music was uncomfortably loud. Girls with no clothes on (but would argue otherwise) were grinding up on one another.

Walking towards the back, he looked for traces of Natasha or a sign that she would've been here at one point. But nothing at all. He was good at finding traces, even upstairs, he couldn't find anything. So the last stop before he left to check out other places was the bathroom.

Since everyone was so shit-faced wasted, no one really judged Clint as he walked into the ladies' room. He looked around, holding a glass in his hand. It looked as if he were just waiting for some girl.

"You looking for someone, Baby?" A female Hungarian voice.

It was a girl – she looked young, maybe in her late teens, probably not even legal in the states. She had voluminous black hair and green eyes. Her chest… well, it would've been nice if it were real. Her dress was too tight – it was almost unflattering. She was probably a hooker.

"You could say that," Clint replied in his B-grade Hungarian, not really paying attention.

"Maybe I can be your someone in an hour, only fifty," the girl went on, running her hand. She pointed to the mirror and said, "You can watch… _us._"

Clint fronwed. She was distracting – like actually. He had to get work done. He had to find Nat. He looked over to the mirror and rolled his eye. But in mid-eye roll, he noticed something strange in the corner of the right upper corner. It was a small V, but the tops of the V were more curved. From far away, it looked like a… bird.

A bird.

Clint's eyes widened as he said, "Excuse me." He reached to the top of the mirror and outlined the drawing of the bird. It was a sticky substance and he noticed that it was red. After a moment of examining it, Clint realized it was Natasha's favorite brand of lipstick.

Clint reached up behind the mirror and felt something strange and hard behind it. He picked it up and noticed that it was a small hard drive. It was probably a message that she had left him.

She was here.

He ran outside of the bathroom, stuffing the hard drive into his inner coat pocket. He then walked over to the bar to one of the young-looking male bartender.

"What can I get you?" he asked quickly in Hungarian, passing a beer over to a customer.

"Have you seen this woman here before?" asked Clint, showing him a picture of Natasha from last year.

The man looked at it too quickly and shook his head, "Nah."

Clint furrowed his brow. "Why don't you take an actual look?" Clint gritted his teeth. Something in his voice must've made the bartender shake because the man turned back around. He looked at the picture and nodded.

"Yeah. She was hot and could drink than most of the men she was with. Nice set of legs on her."

Clint wanted to smile a little, but didn't. He didn't have time to mess around on Natasha's attractive features. "How long ago?"

"Uh… three nights ago," revealed the bartender.

"Who was she with?"

The bartender looked skeptical before shaking his head. Clint pointed his gun at the bartender, and cocked it. It was in his coat so no one could see it but him.

"Shit, Man," hissed the bartender, nearly dropping his glass. "She was with Henderson. He's the leader of some gang in Joseph Town, but it didn't seem like they were together. She was with another guy, don't know who, but they seemed close."

"Thank you," Clint said dryly as he un-cocked his gun and pulled it back. He grabbed his picture back and immediately left for Joseph Town. But while he was driving, he slipped the harddrive into his computer.

A video came up with Natasha's paused face on it.

Clint immediately pressed play.

"_Clint_," Natasha panted as if she was just finished running, _"I've been made. I don't have the missile launch codes or location, but I was close. I think it's a satellite-"_

"_MARTIN!" _There was a loud shout from outside of the bathroom.

"_Shit…" _Natasha looked back at the computer, "_I've got to go. But, Clint I'm sure you'll figure out the codes. Bishop – he owns a club in Joseph Town called Blackout. Go there. Don't look for me, Clint. I'm not the job, even though you probably think otherwise. Get those codes. Black Widow Out."_

"Don't look for me," Clint repeated incredulously. "Bullshit."

It was a nice looking place with a reputation as a slum. Clint drove through the district for Henderson's club. He got up to the opposite building and found a suitable perch. He pulled out his binoculars and looked inside. It was a bustling club. There he saw a man that he looked up on his drive:

Malik Henderson. A man, probably the age of 43 or something relatively close, with dark blue eyes and long brown hair, tucked into a ponytail. He was the leader of some amateur underground gang called Renaissance. Nothing too big or special.

But the man beside Henderson was Bishop.

Clint really didn't know how he was going to play this. He wasn't stupid enough to go barging in and asking for the whereabouts of Natalia Martin (her undercover name as a French College student on leave). Following seemed like the best option – maybe a safe house or a warehouse that would be where they were holding Natasha-

"Up on your feet."

It was a low Hungarian male voice. He felt a pistol poke the back of his head. Shit…

Slowly and carefully, Clint moved to stand up. He put his hand behind his head. In his peripheral vision, he noticed that there were five men and all of them held guns. Maybe this was the best option.

One of the men patted him down and took away his gun, his knives, and his phones. Another called their boss and said, "We got him, Sir. The one that's been spying on us… on it."

They brought Clint quietly into the club with his hands cuffed in front of him. No one would mention anything or say anything. They brought him to a back room and sat him in a chair. From the counting, it seemed as if there were sixteen men in that club that actually worked for the gang and the rest were just young party-goers. It would be relatively easy to shoot his way out of here actually, but this right here could be very good for some information.

Henderson walked in.

"So, we have a guest," he said in a cocky Hungarian tone. He slid on some rings and asked, "Who are you?"

Clint remained quiet.

"Mute are you? You don't even strike me as Hungarian…" murmured Henderson in English. "What are you? French? Russian? British? American? Just let me know so I can pick a language to speak in-"

"This is fine," Clint replied coolly in Hungarian.

"Oh – one of our own perhaps?" asked Henderson. He crouched down and asked, "What were you doing watching my club?"

"People-watching," Clint said dryly.

Henderson laughed to his henchmen, dramatically and over-exaggeratedly. "Funny guy, right?"

The henchmen nodded, a bit nervous about what was going to happen.

Henderson immediately stopped laughing when he punched Clint in the face. To be honest, it was such a bad punch that it looked like it hurt Henderson more than it hurt Clint since Henderson was shaking his hand so vigorously.

"Who do you work for?" Henderson tried.

"Health Department," Clint smirked. "Not looking too good-"

Clint got another hit. He probably deserved that.

"Why were you watching my club."

Clint didn't answer this time – he just spit out the blood. He received another punch, but in the gut this time.

"Guys why don't you take care of him for me," Henderson offered. The three guys began to punch away at Clint – he'd feel this tomorrow. It took him a lot of willpower not to allow his training to kick, break through the ropes, and kick their asses.

Clint heard the door open. It was a man and in the distance he heard the man say, "Enough, Malik. Put him in the cellar with the girl. We can interrogate later, but we need him alive."

The girl? Natasha. It had to be her – she was alive. Even though his whole body was throbbing with pain, his heart leapt like a child for a moment.

The henchmen grabbed Clint and began pushing him. He didn't exactly know where, but Clint began noticing things: one left, one right, down a flight of stairs, another right, and then a left. Then they pushed him into what looked like a jail cell. They also through him a towel and what looked like a pack of painkillers.

Clint sat up and grabbed the towel and scooted backwards to lean against the door. With closed eyes, he kept dabbing the blood off of his mouth.

"You need help?" asked a voice in Hungarian. "You're missing a lot of spots."

Clint knew that voice. He knew that voice by heart – a husky, rough, naturally sensual voice. He looked up to see Natasha Romanoff.

She was in a black mini-dress that was torn and disheveled. Her red hair was messy and frayed. Her make-up was undone and she had cuts all over her skin. She looked tired, but still like the Black Widow- he's known forever.

"Nat!" Clint shouted, coughing some blood. "Shit, and you said you were probably going to die." He tried to get up, but his body hurt too much.

"You shouldn't get up," Natasha said after a moment. She got up and bent down and began patting away some blood.

Clint tried to touch her face, her beautiful face with his hands, but he stopped when she jerked away – something she has never done before. Even the first time they met, she never moved away from him. Nor would he when she would do it.

"Natasha, are you all right?"

That's when Natasha stepped back completely and tilted her head cautiously. She gave him a serious look and frowned, "How do you know my name?"

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OH. Plot twist. Reviews?


	4. Amnesia

**Amnesia**

_Another chapter! Please Review - it really does mean a lot. It makes sure I'm going in the right direction in the fic. Reviews are also like crack to me ;D so hey! Indulge me!_

_Asia P._

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"How do you know my name?"

Clint stopped. Everything around him stopped: time, movement, and maybe even life. He gulped. Natasha Romanoff, Natalia Romanova, and Black Widow asked why he knew her name?

"Don't play games with about that, Nat," muttered Clint in a soft voice.

Natasha frowned. She wasn't playing him – the look in her eyes was a completely serious one. He knew it. "Do... do I know you?" asked Natasha in a very low and serious tone.

Clint gulped. He didn't know what to do. There was a constriction in his chest that kind of hurt – he hadn't felt something like that in a long time. After a long moment, he nodded.

"What's your name?" asked Natasha in a soft voice.

"Clint Barton," Clint said, rubbing his brow, suddenly very tired. He looked up at her and asked (by accident in English), "Where… why do you think you are in here?"

"I think Red Room is trying to get back at me a little, had fun locking me up," hissed Natasha in English, crosshing her arm. "Are you here to tell me otherwise?"

Red Room? She hasn't been apart of Red Room since he had grabbed her and got her into SHIELD. That was such a long time ago. "What… what year do you think it is?"

"2001," Natasha said as if it were obvious. "November 2001."

Clint's jaw slackened a little. That was one month before he got her out. One month before her life changed. One month… before they met.

"Holy shit," he muttered. He didn't know what to do, but laugh. He gulped and shook his head slowly. She had amnesia. Some serious fucking amnesia.

"Am I wrong?" Natasha asked sharply.

"Yes, very," murmured Clint. He looked up at her and showed him her digital watch, "It's 2007."

Natasha's eyes widened when she saw the date. "Machines can be fixed. What are you playing at, _Mr. Barton_?"

"The truth," Clint said honestly.

"I don't believe you," hissed Natasha, sitting on her bed.

"I know – you don't trust people to begin with," scoffed Clint.

She gave him a look. "That's a broad generalization to make about a person you just met."

"No, for you, it's accurate," said Clint, just saying whatever came to his mind. "You told me."

"How do you know me, then?"

"We… we're partners."

"I work alone."

"Not anymore."

"I seriously doubt that – you sound American. When would the Americans let me work for them?" Natasha asked as she frowned at him.

Clint sighed, "After I convinced them to let you in."

Natasha straightened her posture, glaring at him a bit. She gulped and asked softly, "Why would you convince them? Why would it work? Wouldn't your… _group _want me eliminated?"

"That's _what_ I was sent to do," said Clint, rubbing his head. He looked up at her and explained Moscow 2001.

Clint explained how he was assigned to kill the Black Widow, how he almost did, how he changed his mind when he saw the essence of a seventeen year old girl still in there, how she rejected the idea, how they immediately disappeared from one another when the Moscow Police arrived, how two days later in his hotel she arrived, asking with tears in her eyes for death after being beaten by the Red Room agents, and then how he refused to kill her and brought her to SHIELD instead.

Natasha frowned. "That's a sweet story, but I don't believe you."

"Didn't expect you to," shrugged Clint, still in somewhat disbelief from this whole mess. "But, it did happen," he added with much more conviction.

"How do you expect me to believe that?" asked Natasha. "How am I supposed to believe that I left my life because I got tired of Red Room breathing down my back and you came into my life, trying to kill me?"

"I don't know," sighed Clint. He then looked up to her and said, "I can prove to you that I do know you though."

"Try," Natasha challenged. She plopped down on the bed and crossed her arms. "This should be good."

"Your birthday is November 22nd, 1984," revealed Clint.

"Public record."

"Your parents died in a car crash when you were four."

"More Public Record."

"Red Room picked you up then and you trained to become a lethal assassiant through torture until the age of fourteen."

"So were many girls my age," countered Natasha, crossing her arms over her chest. "Tell me something that can really prove that I know you."

"You were a 34DD," Clint said dryly, nodding towards her chest.

Natasha gave him a look, trying to suppress a smirk. "And you know that why?"

"You're my partner," said Clint, "We know things about each other."

"So I know how long you're dick is?" Natasha asked sarcastically.

Clint chuckled lowly. He shrugged, "Yeah."

Natasha shook her head in disbelief. "Ok, still. People sometimes have a knack for knowing a girl's chest size… You're not making much a story for yourself. If you really were my partner, tell me something important. That I wouldn't tell anyone else."

Clint could see in her eyes that she didn't believe him. She was always hard on trusting people, very bad at it. But, he knew stories about her that he could never repeat. The damage that had been done to her was immense. She would never cry to him about it, but she wouldn't be telling the stories about her life before SHIELD with a smile.

Clint gulped.

"You were fourteen when Red Room began noting you as a… woman. And you began fighting them off more often, telling them to screw of and shit like that. And one time, you took it to far them. They locked you in a room and they… _violated _you. That's when they took your viriginity away from you, by... raping you."

Natasha looked horrified. For the first time since she had cried for Clint to kill her, Natasha looked horrified. She looked broken almost. She gulped and said, "I never told any that before."

"I know," said Clint, looking a bit ashamed of himself for telling her that she knew. "I know. You were hesitant in telling me."

"So, I really do know you?" murmured Natasha, narrowing her eyes at Clint.

Clint nodded, "Yeah."

Natasha let out a long breath. "So, explain to me what am I missing, Partner?"

Clint scoffed before explaining everything for her that she was missing.

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Reviews? Muchas Gracias! Merci! Thanks!


	5. Breakout

**Breakout**

Here's another chapter! Please Review and Enjoy. Reviews do mean a lot to me :D they keep me going! So please please please review!

* * *

"Do you believe me?"

Natasha rubbed her forearms with her thumbs softly. She let out a sigh and breathed into their shared air. She looked at the handsome man on the ground parallel to her.

_Clint Barton _was a handsome man Natasha decided. He had tan, callous, scarred skin, and clearly had hands of an archer. His fingers looked rough and hard. He had sandy blond hair that looked fairly well-groomed and quaffed; he had a tiny bit stubble to match on his chin. He had intense, yet soft sapphire blue eyes that were nice in Natasha's opinion. His voice was deep and rugged – almost sounded like he had a bad cough, but in the sexiest way possible.

_Clint Barton_ seemed genuine. Not that bullshit genuine that Natasha had ben used to since she was four. He seemed honest, raw, and something inside his voice and his eyes made it actually seem like they were partners.

Or he could've been playing her real good.

But also, Natasha had been having strange flashbacks the last few days. A tan man, a short man, a tall white woman, and a dark man with an eyepatch. They were interesting people, but the flashbacks weren't long enough to actually get a good glimpse. It was like the flashbacks were fogged – it was so hard.

Natasha looked up at him and said in a very raw tone, "I don't know."

Clint nodded, "I don't know if I would either. But you and I need to get the hell out of here. My boss is going to have my neck soon."

"I've already thought about it," Natasha revealed, looking over at his watch.

"Why didn't you act upon it earlier?" asked Clint, raising an eyebrow at her. "You aren't the type to wait, Romanoff."

Natasha smirked. He had that right, didn't he? "I didn't have the time before, Barton."

"So how is that going to help you?"

Natasha debated if she could trust him with her plan. Half of her brain, the training side, told her to wait until they hand her some food, grab the fork, and stab him in the eye. The other half of her brain, her instincts, told her to let him on the plan. From what Natasha could remember, it seemed like those two halves were at a standoff – it hadn't been like that for a long time.

So, she did something rare for Natasha Romanoff. Something she has never ever done before.

She gave Clint Barton a chance.

"Ok… half of the men leave in an hour with Bishop, or I think that's his name, the leader guy. A lot of them mention his name, but I don't know who he is…"

One of the large bodyguards came in with two trays of food: two disgusting soggy-ass sandwiches and a glass of water.

Clint was sitting on the floor still as Natasha lay on the bed. It would've looked normal if the two weren't lethal government assassins, but I guess the bodyguard was unaware.

The bodyguard dropped the tray down onto the ground in the middle of the room. "Dinner," he said shortly before turning around.

Never turn your back on Black Widow and Hawkeye.

Hawkeye grabbed the tray and banged it against the head of the Bodyguard. Once he fell to his knees, Natasha managed to run at him and slide her thighs around his neck for what looked like a painful chokehold.

As Natasha took care of him, Clint ran at the two that were coming at him now. He punched the closer one in the stomach and kicked the other in the gut. He took the gun of the first and gave these two men distinct bullet holes in between the eyes.

Natasha came out and cracked her neck. She ran with him down the hall, taking the other gun. Four more men came at them with machine guns. Natasha grabbed to pull Clint back behind the .

"I would say 'Manuever 7," sighed Clint, checking the number of bullets he has in his gun, "but you have no idea what the fuck that means."

Natasha smirked as she finished shooting a couple of bullets for looks, but missing, "Give me the jist then."

"I throw you in the air," Clint said simply, "You shoot."

"Sounds like fun," said Natasha as she backed up for a running start. "One… two…"

"Dammit, Natasha, preparation!" Clint hissed rushing to prepare himself.

"Three," said Natasha as she ran at Clint. She ran at the lift that Clint made with his hands, and with her right foot, she jumped in the air and around the corner. While in mid air, she managed to shoot three of the men. Clint came out and shot the last.

Natasha landed and began running again with Clint.

"So, you remembered that move?" asked Clint, grabbing another gun and another set of rounds.

"I… I remember doing it with someone…" muttered Natasha, feeling guilty that she was unable to say that she remembered him.

"That's good."

This comment surprised Natasha – she expected him to say something upsetting about her memory loss or something rude.

"Your memory is recovering," revealed Clint, stopping her before they turned around another corner. "And I am damn glad to hear that."

They listened quietly to the foot steps running towards them.

"How many do you think? I'm saying seven," murmured Clint, putting in some more bullets.

"Six men and a woman," Natasha revealed. "Big heels – a prostitute probably. Those are some tall heels."

Clint smirked as they began shooting together. They managed to get the six and the woman was a prostitute, wearing nothing but a thong on and some tall ass high heels, who ran away.

Natasha grabbed the gasoline from one of the store rooms in the basement and began running it along the bodies as Clint kept away the stragglers. She led the gasoline back to the main tank.

As Clint began to fight off three men, Natasha helped by shooting one in the thigh, one in the head, and one in the throat. She ran with Clint away as she grabbed a lighter. They reached the top of the outside. They were still being shot at.

"I hope you have a fucking plan, Barton," hissed Natasha, ducking the bullets.

"I have a car," Clint said hopefully. "Maybe."

Natasha cursed lowly in Russian. "Fantastic," She hissed as she threw the open lighter at the gasoline.

They ran and ran until they heard the explosion. They felt it too – the pressure pushed them onto the ground. Somehow, Clint managed to put his body over hers, so no glass or whatever touched her.

"Fuck me," groaned Clint, feeling a piece of glass lodge deeply in his abdomen and another in his left arm.

"Shouldn't have jumped on top of me, Dumbass," said Natasha as they got up slowly.

"You know," groaned Clint as he stood up, grabbing the piece of glass in his arm and throwing it onto the ground, "a simple 'thank-you' would suffice, Miss Romanoff."

Natasha scoffed.

They walked quickly over to Clint's car that still had been untouched. They slid inside and immediately began driving off to nowhere.

"Bag," Clint said shortly. "Cellphone."

Natasha immediately began searching through the big duffle bag for. She moved past the bow, arrow, and quiver. There were an assortment of guns and a large array of arrows. "Here," said Natasha, passing it to him.

Without even taking his eyes off the crowded road running away from the fire, Clint dialed a number and put it on speaker.

"_You better have some damn good news, Barton," _said the angry voice of Director Fury. "_I told you I didn't want to hear from you until you got Romanoff-"_

"I got her, Director," said Clint, still trying to the hide of the pain of the glass. He then tried to ripe it out, but Natasha stopped him.

"Don't be stupid," Natasha scolded in a harsh voice.

"_Oh yeah, that's her_," muttered Fury in a slightly amused voice. _"Would you like to debrief us on what happened, Agent Romanoff?_"

Clint could tell that Natasha was about to ask 'who the hell was this guy on the other end,' but Clint shook his head.

"We have a problem though," informed Clint, shutting his eyes tightly for a quick moment, enduring the pain. Also, since the adrenaline was wearing off. He could feel the bruises from the interrogation forming, the bruises from the fight, and this glass lodged into his abs.

"_Oh_?"

"Natasha is suffering from retrograde amnesia."

There was a long silence.

"_Don't fuck with me about that, Barton_," hissed Fury, "_because I swear I'm going to find a way to drag your ass back into hell-"_

"Sir," Clint interrupted as he looked at Natasha who was looking out the window, "she can't remember anything definitely up until the time of November 2001."

Clint heard a few collective gasps. This was a serious moment of silence. The only thing that broke the silence was Natasha's scoff.

"_Shutter,_" Fury said in a very soft tone.

Clint froze almost. His face became frozen and his mind became blank. No… never. He had never been told _Shutter _before, but of course he knew the practice.

_Shutter _was a code word at SHIELD to take out someone. If Natasha couldn't remember SHIELD protocols, then she would never know what that would mean.

But. No, he would never take out Natasha. That was out of the question. They were partners. She was his best friend. Absolutely not.

"No, Sir."

"That wasn't a request or a suggestion, Barton," Fury said in a harsh tone.

"Her memory is coming back in pieces," revealed Clint. "Give me 72 hours and this will all be over. I will cut off the nuke codes and Natasha Romanoff will be qualified fine."

There was another silence. "Barton, I know what Romanoff means to you, and I know what you two mean to each other. But it is time to put aside your emotions and follow orders. She's _compromised!_"

Clint saw that Natasha looked down at the phone and then back up at him.

And there was that look again. Underneath those cold blue eyes, the innocent gaze came out – the one that made him stop him from killing her back in Moscow in December 2001. That was _Natalia Romanova._

"And each one the Senior Field Agents have been – you and I both," countered Barton, looking at her, and somehow still driving. "You gave me the order to kill her once before and I didn't – that was the right decision. Her memory is coming back, Sir. I'm not killing her."

Natasha looked at him with wide eyes before biting her lip and looking away from his gaze.

Fury let out a groan. "72 hours, Barton. 72 hours and once you hit 72 and a second, I will send agents out for both of you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then get moving," Fury added as he shut off the phone.

Clint threw the phone in the back and cracked his neck. He drove faster through the bustling streets of Budapest.

"Why did you say no to taking me out?" asked Natasha after a long moment.

Clint looked at her and said, "I came to Budapest unofficially to find you and take you home. Killing you would've just put all my hard work to waste."

Natasha furrowed her brow, but said nothing as Clint looked back out as he drove.

"And… you're my best friend, Romanoff."

Natasha turned her head and saw that Clint was smiling very lightly. She shook her head, not realizing there was a light smile on her face as well. "Are you always this corny?" Natasha asked coolly.

Clint smirked, "You actually kind of like it."

"Oh perfect," Natasha rolled her eyes, but still amused nonetheless. "Where are we going?"

"A safe house."


	6. Tranquil

**Tranquil**

_Sorry for the late update. It's performance week at my school and I'm super busy! So please REVIEW and ENJOY this. :D_

_oh and um... *warning*_

* * *

"Shit…"

Natasha looked over into the bathroom and saw that Clint was checking out the glass that was still protruding out of his abdomen. He opened up the digusting mirror cabinet to see if there was hydrogen peroxide, which there was but looked old.

She turned away and slid off the torn and worn-out dress she had been working out for the last three days, leaving her in a bra and a pair of lacy black underwear. She looked through the shopping bag they stole before they came to this shit safe house… or 'safe' studio apartment in the ghetto of Budapest.

There was a white button-down, a pack of fresh cotton underwear, an undershirt and a pair of jeans. She'd wear the jeans tomorrow she decided, but god, did she need a shower-

"_Fuck…" _

She turned back around to see that Clint had gotten out the large piece of glass. It was bloodied and in the sink now. He was dabbing the wound with a cotton ball.

He grabbed a bandage and slapped it over the wound ungracefully. He tapped it down and cracked his neck. "You can use the bathroom," he said as he looked up at her.

Natasha nodded, "Thanks."

She grabbed the underwear and the undershirt. She closed the door partially and slipped into the shower. She nearly screamed when she found there was not hot water. So it became a very quick shower, but it did the job in cleaning her up. SHIELD however did manage a packaged unused toothbrush for the each of them. She slid on the undershirt and the pair of new underwear.

In the back of her head, Natasha wondered why Clint didn't say anything to her being partially naked. Whatever… if they were partners, they must've been very used to it. Seeing each other in very uncomfortable situations.

Using the one towel, Natasha dried her hair a bit, but left it intact in case Clint needed it. She walked out to see him looking through some computer files on the mission she was on before her amnesia. The proof that she was a SHIELD agent was outstanding. How could she just forget like that…?

And him? How could she forget someone like him? Someone who would protect her from a blast? Someone who would come half way around the world to get her back? Her best friend?

Clint scratched his neck and then down his back. She noticed that there was a bad scar on his lower back on the left side. It looked like a large painful bullet wound-

_Natasha was laughing._

_This man was laughing too, but by the way he was doing so, Natasha could tell that he was the one telling the joke. _

"_Idiot," She whispered into the bare back of his skin. She rested her hands on his shoulder blades. Her naked body was lying on top of his comfortably. She kissed his shoulder blade and then back down to that scar. She traced her hand over that scar and after a long moment, she bent down and kissed it…_

"You should get some sleep, Natasha," suggested Clint, turning around to face her after closing the laptop. When he realized that something was off with the way she looking at him, he titled his head a bit. "What's wrong?"

"I have a question, Barton," said Natasha in a soft, almost worried voice. "Be honest with me."

"Of course."

"The scar on you back…" Natasha said softly. "I remembered it. How'd you get it?"

Clint smirked, "I took a bullet for you."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"And you took one for me later," revealed Clint, pointing to the mark on her upper right arm. Natasha stared at the scar that she had not recognized before.

Clint then pointed to the scar at her collarbone and said, "Knife wound in Sao Paulo." He then gently and slowly lifted the hem of her undershirt and pointed to one right above her hip bone. "Gun shot in Bangkok."

She looked up to him and stared in his eyes, making sure his pupils didn't dilate. "Barton, were we sleeping together?" asked Natasha in a soft tone, staring into his eyes.

Clint closed his eyes for a moment and muttered, "Yes."

Natasha bit her lip and chewed it for a bit. "Before this mission?"

"Yes."

"How often?"

"Whenever we got a chance which wasn't often," whispered Clint, rubbing the back of his neck. "But yes, we had sex with each other."

"Were we… a thing?" asked Natasha in disbelief. _Love? _But that was for children.

Clint shook his head and bit his lower lip - conflicted with the answer he was about to give her. "We… we just had sex, Natasha. We weren't dating or anything like that I suppose: we just connected with each other. It was kind of like friends with benefits, but stronger than that. We had to get stress out somehow and well, we were willing to help each other out and give each other that sometimes."

"For how long?"

"Well, about a year after we became partners, so six years…"

"_That_ long?" Natasha asked, a bit shocked.

Clint nodded. He then narrowed his eyes at her and asked, "How did you know?"

Natasha looked down and said, "I remember the scar on your back… and… I remember kissing it."

Clint smiled a bit. "You tended to do that sometimes."

She sat on the bed and looked up at him. She ruffled her hair and asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why would I?" Clint countered. The question didn't make sense to Natasha, so she remained quiet as Clint went on. "You… you couldn't remember the past seven years of us working together as partners. I didn't want the first thing for you to remember about me is the sex we had, but… fuck it, never mind," growled Clint as he walked over to the window. He rested a hand on the window and glared outside.

"Don't 'never mind' me," hissed Natasha as she stood up. "You can't do that to me, Barton. You've got to tell me everything – I'm missing seven years up here. It's not fair if you leave anything out."

"We had sex, there, happy now?" asked Clint, glaring at her.

"No, I'm not!" Natasha shouted angrily. "Goddamit, if you claim to know me so well, how can you possibly believe for one second that I'm happy with only the memories of Red Room. If for one second there was something better than _that_, I want to remember every fucking detail. I want to remember being… _happier._" Natasha could feel a constricting in her chest as she continued to speak. "So, what were you going to say about it before you stomped off."

Clint took a deep breath and sighed. "I wanted you to remember me before the sex we had."

Natasha looked down and said, "I can't control how my memory works; I don't know what you want me to say."

"I don't either," muttered Clint.

She then walked over to him and rested her hands on his arms. She skimmed the contours of his biceps carefully, up towards his collarbone. She the skimmed over his pectoral and noticed another unusually painful looking scar on his right side. It looked like a permanent scratch.

"This one?" Natasha asked without looking up at him.

Clint sighed, "It was when my parents died. The glass went into my skin, and lodged itself way deep in there when I was only six…"

Natasha had heard this story before, but she couldn't tell where though: parents dying, glass in the side, age six. She also knew how, and without realizing it she said it aloud. "From a car crash."

Clint stopped and looked down at her. He looked at her dumbfounded, elated, and most of all, relieved. "You remember that?"

"That was you…?" asked Natasha.

"Yes."

In that moment, something critical clicked. Clint nor Natasha knew what it exactly was, but something changed. The proximity to one another, the emotional last five minutes, and the clear sexual attraction and comfort between them must've hit a pinnacle.

Natasha leaned in, angling her head to his. He moved in as well and their lips merely brushed. She pulled back, still letting her hands rest upon his shoulders and murmured, "Maybe I'll remember something."

"Good idea," Clint added huskily before taking her face and meshing his lips to hers.

The kiss was carnal and hungry. There was something in both of them that made them want to kiss each other as roughly, passionately, and hotly as possible. It was

It was almost like riding a bicycle, thought Natasha. Her body knew this because hell, this felt good and… right. She wrapped her arms around his neck at the same time as he slid his hands down to her ass. In one smooth motion, Clint lifted her up and Natasha let her legs wrap snuggly around his waist.

Slowly, Clint began kneading Natasha's ass, and she never remembered liking it when male marks would try that with her. Even through her underwear, she could feel the calloused tips of his fingers against the fabric. She slid her hands into her hair and tugged gently at the feeling. She didn't know how much she was able to take.

He must've been feeling the same way because Clint began walking over to the bed. He sat down and held her closely. The friction between the two increased as they moved together – their hips were nearly in synch.

Clint slid his hands over Natasha's stomach and underneath the hem of her undershirt. He ran them over her toned stomach, eliciting a quiet moan from her mouth. His hands reached over her breasts and began to knead with more purpose. He ran his thumb across her nipple, letting out a small whimper.

Natasha lifted her hands up in an attempt to get more friction: skin-to-skin contact. Clint lifted off the shirt and threw it off into a distant part of the room. She bit her lip impatiently as she watched Clint pepper her chest with kisses – it was a sweet gesture. But it no longer became sweet, maybe fucking hot, when Clint closed his lips over her breast.

"Oh shit…" Natasha groaned hotly, letting her head loll back. She grabbed the nape of his neck desperately, pressing him into her chest. He bit lightly, sucked, and licked her until she was practically whining, which was literally music to his ears.

Clint flipped her over and they began to crawl backwards to the top of the bed. They began kissing each other again roughly – he slipped his tongue into her mouth. It had been almost four months since he had sex with Natasha, but this time it was different. It wasn't one of their normal rounds of sex – it was a search. No search seemed to cliché. It was a… connection.

Clint began kissing down her body, nipping his way down. He relished the fact that Natasha's hips were grinding desperately for some sort of contact. He hooked the hem of her underwear and dragged them down slowly. They managed to land somewhere by her undershirt.

"W-wait…" muttered Natasha as she sat up, supporting her forearms. "I don't let people-"

"I know…" murmured Clint, moving away. "You never let anyone…"

"Did I let you?" asked Natasha softly, wondering if she should let her wall break just for a moment.

Clint nodded. He didn't move to her core like she had expected, but stayed at her hip. He kissed her hotly, nipping at her soft skin.

"O-ok…" sighed Natasha, a bit nervous.

Unlike Natasha expected, Clint didn't go straight to her core. He kissed the crease between her thigh and her core, sucking tenderly, nipping a little as well. The pressure began to build and all Natasha could do was roll her hips and beg, "Oh… _please._"

In that moment, Clint latched onto her core as quickly as he could. He began exploring her intimate sex with his tongue, causing her to moan and groan.

He was so good at it. He knew every move to make her whine, moan, and practically scream. The way he sucked her clit made her head spin. She grabbed onto his head, pulling at his hair slightly.

He slid two fingers into her and began to pump slowly. "Oh god…" Natasha moaned loudly.

"Come on, Baby," Clint muttered after a long suckle, "Let go – let me take care of you."

With the husky tone of his voice, Natasha came undone. She shook violently as she screamed. She swore she saw stars as she came harder than a fucking tsunami.

When it was over, she lay limply on the bed, trying desperately to control her breathing. She looked down at Clint who began kissing his way back up her body.

"Now I know why I let you," Natasha panted.

Clint chuckled, but the chuckle didn't last long because before he knew it, he was on his back. "Let's see if I can remember what you like," smirked Natasha as she began to kiss down his abdomens.

"Shit…" Clint groaned as Natasha slid his pants and boxers down his muscular legs. She ran her index finger down his length and smirked proudly when she got a loud groan out of him.

She crawled up his body and grabbed his dick firmly. She then allowed herself to slowly drop onto him. She let out a small gasp at the feeling of being filled by Clint.

"Christ," Clint breathed, looking up at Natasha like he was a blind man seeing the stars for the first time. He took her hips and together they moved slowly, gradually gaining rhythm. She moved back and forth, and occasionally up and down.

Clint closed his eyes and relished at the feeling of being consumed by her body again. He was pretty sure that it couldn't get any better than this-

"_Clint…_"

Clint opened his eyes and he realized that they both stopped moving. This was the first time in the whole night that she used "Clint" instead of Barton or something like that.

Their eyes connected for a moment – it was a moment of recognition. Natasha might've remembered him entirely yet, but she did remember a moment like this. A moment when they were connected fully. He could tell with just the look in her eyes.

Clint snapped. He sat up, wrapped one arm around her waist and clutched her head with his fingers grabbing at her hair. He moved at a faster, more desperate pace. He shoved his lips against hers and let their bodies move naturally.

"Mmm…" Natasha squirmed, holding onto him tightly. She couldn't remember a time she had felt this good – it was her own free will too. She was _choosing _to sleep with this man. Despite not remembering spending nights with him, there was a familiar sensation though that she had never got before.

"Oh god," she groaned as she lolled her head back due to a particularly well-aimed thrust.

Clint began sucking at Natasha's neck and maneuvered one hand down to her core. He rubbed her nerves furiously, still moving with at her at a pace that made Natasha clench up again.

"_Oh fuck yes!_" Natasha screamed as wrapped her limbs harder around Clint's body. Her core went into cartwheels; she came so hard that she swore she saw stars.

She must've blacked out or something for a moment because she couldn't remember how she landed on top of Clint's chest, gasping for air. She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"Hi…" He said as he looked down at her.

Natasha smirked a little, still panting for air. She rolled her eyes, still with a smile, and murmured, "Idiot."


End file.
